


a careful undressing of love

by seventhstar



Series: it promises light [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Blindfolds, Dark Past, Light Bondage, M/M, Married Sex, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Oral Sex, Regency, Regency Romance, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: “The parson’s wife in Hasetsu came to visit me,” Yuuri says breathlessly. “To advise me on how a gently bred omega comports themselves—in the marriage bed—” He groans as Viktor catches the tip of one nipple between his teeth. “She said…ah, she said, that I should wear something plain.”“What, on our wedding night?”“She said that only whores enjoyed marital relations,” Yuuri pants. “She said—”





	a careful undressing of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/gifts), [alykapedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/gifts).



> the final fic!!! thank u everyone

“Are you going to tie me?”

It takes Viktor too long to comprehend Yuuri’s question, so distracted is he by Yuuri’s attire. Rather than a nightdress, or even a skimpier chemise, Yuuri is wearing the same well-worn one he wore during the ball. It covers everything and does nothing to set off his body. But it is paper thin and Viktor blushes to look at it, remembering how he stripped it off Yuuri’s body so he could kiss all the exposed skin beneath.

God, and Yuuri did not think Viktor would marry him, and he still allowed Viktor so many liberties.

Viktor has brought some rope with him, pink silk, which he sets on the bed beside Yuuri.

“Shall I?”

“I thought that it was…compulsory.”

“It is not as if there will be anyone here to know. The clergyman is not going to creep into our bedchamber to confirm you submitted to me properly.”

The idea of binding Yuuri makes Viktor uncertain; he has no desire to terrorize Yuuri, to frighten him into obedience; if Yuuri sent him from the chamber now, Viktor would go. But there is still something terribly erotic about the thought of it.

“Is it painful?”

“No.”

“Have you actually—”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“We need not, if the idea disturbs you.”

“No, I wish it.”

Viktor smooths Yuuri’s mussed hair and then takes off his spectacles. They are crooked. He sets them on the nightstand carefully. Then he peels back the counterpane to reveal Yuuri’s bare legs.

Yuuri blushes, unearthly in the sliver of moonlight through the cracked window, but he allows Viktor to tug the chemise over his head and untie the collar around his throat. Bare, he folds his hands in his lap and stares at Viktor with wide eyes.

Viktor sets his chemise aside before using the collar to blindfold him. Yuuri shivers as the knot is tied, but insists it is neither too tight nor too frightening.

He has the sense Yuuri finds his attempts at comfort to be irritating. Viktor lifts Yuuri’s arms, and wraps the rope about his wrists; there is a hook set in the wall for this very purpose. It is simple enough to tie him securely, and when Yuuri pulls, there is not much give, and he is well and caught.

And entirely at Viktor’s mercy.

He traces over Yuuri’s arms to begin with, down the insides of pale wrists, over biceps and shoulders corded with muscle, down across his smooth chest. Yuuri’s whole body is tight with cold, skin goosefleshed, nipples red and hard. His stomach is drawn taut as he holds his breath. He bites at his lip to keep quiet.

Yuuri’s pulse through his skin is racing.

Viktor bends down to kiss his forehead, and then his nose, and then his lips; there he lingers, Yuuri’s mouth slow against his own, Yuuri’s body arched against his hands.

He ought to say something, to describe the beauty of Yuuri’s every feature to him, but words fail him entirely. Instead Viktor strips off his waistcoat and cravat, then seats himself at Yuuri’s side; he turns Yuuri’s head to expose his flushed neck and nips.

Yuuri shudders.

“Shall I mark you?”

“Not yet…”

Viktor shrugs and lets his mouth wander as he stills Yuuri’s body with his hands. The ruffles on his shirt scrape over Yuuri’s skin as he lies atop him, kissing at Yuuri’s collarbone, over his heart, in lazy spirals over Yuuri’s chest. In the two months since their engagement, Yuuri has lost a little weight, from must be nerves, as he is not given to the feigned dainty appetite of many well-bred omegas. He needs feeding up, Viktor thinks, fingertips trailing up Yuuri’s side.

“Please,” Yuuri says. “Viktor.”

“Yes?”

“Can you…”

“Can I…?”

Yuuri scowls at him, though he cannot see Viktor through his blindfold.

Viktor laughs and has mercy on him. He turns his attention to Yuuri’s pert nipples, which draws a shudder out of him. Yuuri is blooming, pink from his cheeks down to his soft stomach. Only Viktor’s weight over his body is holding him still. The scent of rosewater lingers on his skin; Yuuri must have bathed in it. Viktor can scarcely imagine it, how Yuuri must have fumbled to unlace himself alone in this room, how he would have undone his garters and slid his stockings down, how he would have taken off his gloves and rinsed out the pomade in his hair, how his petticoats would have ended crumpled on the floor, how he must have laid himself out like a pagan sacrifice of old.

“Why did you wear the old chemise?” Viktor asks, between sucking marks into Yuuri’s chest and stomach. He can taste the sweat on Yuuri’s skin. “I seem to recall being billed for your trosseau.”

“The parson’s wife in Hasetsu came to visit me,” Yuuri says breathlessly. “To advise me on how a gently bred omega comports themselves—in the marriage bed—” He groans as Viktor catches the tip of one nipple between his teeth. “She said…ah, she said, that I should wear something plain.”

“What, on our wedding night?”

“She said that only whores enjoyed marital relations,” Yuuri pants. “She said—”

Viktor dips his tongue into Yuuri’s navel, drags his nails over Yuuri’s hips. He draws a line down from Yuuri’s navel, low over his belly, down until he is just touching Yuuri’s center, so lightly that Yuuri tries to lift his hips to meet Viktor’s hand.

“What did she say?”

“She said that it would hurt terribly the first time and that once I had an alpha child I could bar you from my bedchamber…”

Viktor kisses deliberately between Yuuri’s thighs, where he is damp and delicious.

“I would suspend no pleasure of yours, my love,” he says between kisses, “but where we are going you do not have a separate bedchamber.”

“She had no idea that I knew what I was about,” Yuuri pants. “She had no idea how wanton I really am, Viktor, did you know I used to spy on you while you swam—oh!”

He keens as Viktor starts to suck gently at the swollen bud that crowns Yuuri’s sex, laving it with his tongue. The way Yuuri tastes makes Viktor more drunk than smuggled brandy, is headier than good wine; there’s a tremble in his thighs as he tries to rut against Viktor’s mouth. Yuuri’s pulse is erratic between Viktor’s lips, his harsh breathing like music to Viktor’s ears.

Viktor continues his ministrations, ceaseless like the oncoming tide, until Yuuri’s breath quickens as he starts to peak. Then Viktor lifts his head.

“Finish,” Yuuri demands.

“You finish. When did you ever spy on me bathing?”

Yuuri’s expression is wildly displeased, but one soft lick coaxes him to speak.

“I—I spied on you once, in the pond.” Yuuri alludes to the place deep in the woods between Yu-topia and Viktor’s family home, where Viktor swam as a youth. “You were naked—ah, I was barely sixteen, I didn’t—”

Viktor stops again when Yuuri trails off. “You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t know what I wanted,” Yuuri admits. Viktor puts his mouth on him again and sets to pleasuring him in earnest, two fingers pressed deep inside him. “I only—I knew that I—after you left I stripped down and I swam and I imagined that you might come back and catch me—” His heels scrape against the sheets as Viktor grips his hips and buries his tongue inside him alongside his fingers.

Yuuri’s scream of pleasure is no doubt heard throughout the inn.

Viktor caresses Yuuri as he composes himself, his ankles and calves and knees with their old scars, and then his face. Yuuri does not say a word as Viktor unties the blindfold and tosses the mangled ribbon to the side, then undoes the bonds around Yuuri’s delicate wrists. Yuuri reaches for him, and Viktor settles beside him on the lumpy inn bed, intertwining their limbs like ivy entangling around a tower.

Yuuri tries to put his hand beneath Viktor’s shirt, and without thought Viktor bats his hand away.

“Viktor?”

“Don’t.”

“Why?” Yuuri asks, incredulous. His brows are drawn. “You won’t even undress?”

Viktor has a scar. Viktor has an entire spiderweb of scars over his chest and a matching set over his left arm, wounds from a bullet and an unfortunate bout with badly maintained swords. Where Yuuri’s life has leant his body loveliness, Viktor’s has the ugliness of five years lived in death’s shadow. He has no desire to show Yuuri his mutilated torso and see the pity in his eyes, watch him recoil rather than touch.

Yuuri is too kind to tell him he is hideous, but if he thought it and could not hide it…

“Not tonight.”

“But why?” Yuuri’s eyes narrow. “Are you wounded?”

“When would I have managed to wound myself?”

“You had time to be accosted by footpads!”

“I am unharmed, I assure you.”

Viktor draws Yuuri close enough to kiss; Yuuri’s lashes cast long fine shadows on his cheeks as his eyes fall shut at Viktor’s touch. He lets Viktor kiss him, and stroke his soft hair, and draw his wrists over Yuuri’s neck to scent him fully. The unmarked skin on Yuuri’s throat is almost mocking, but Viktor resists.

“You would not let me mark you.”

“I will let you mark me when you undress.”

“Perhaps I am deformed.”

“Viktor, did you not hear me? I have seen you unclothed. You are the least deformed person in all England.” Yuuri rubs his wrist against Viktor’s neck in return. “If it is my—my lack of experience, I did ask for advice and—”

“You asked for what?”

“Phichit recommended a book.”

“Your friend supplied you with pornography.”

“It’s not like it mattered, you had already deflowered me!”

Viktor blushes, despite himself. Yuuri is very bold; he had no scruples about demanding Viktor lock them in the library together for an assignation while they were unmarried, and it did not seem to make any material difference to him then that they were engaged, or that he was chaste. At the time, of course, Viktor took it as a compliment to the violence of their mutual affection; now he knows how brave Yuuri truly was, to risk everything on what he saw as an impossible admiration.

And if Yuuri could be so brave as to let Viktor ruin his one good gown on the chaise in the library, surely Viktor can brave merely removing his shirt. He must be a good husband and meet Yuuri where he is.

“Very well,” Viktor mumbles. He turns his face into Yuuri’s hand, and lets Yuuri scent his cheek. “I will undress, if you wish.”

“I do wish.”

“Mm.”

With great reluctance, they detach themselves. Yuuri puts his spectacles back on as Viktor unbuttons the neck of his shirt and untucks it. He grips the hem, palms clammy with nerves; he is too aware of Yuuri’s eyes upon him, wide with emotion, dark as the night sky, flecks of moonlight caught in his lenses.

The shirt is thrown onto the floor.

Yuuri stares at him intently for a number of seconds; each moment his eyes are fixed on Viktor is a nerve-wracking eternity. Viktor hasn’t been undressed in front of another human being since his wounds no longer needed tending. His servants have accustomed themselves to it; his lovers, unattached to him as they were, have not questioned it. Only Viktor has seen these scars, and he only looks at them when he needs the reminder, late at night with cold sweat beaded on his brow from the nightmares, that he did not die.

Yuuri reaches out, fingertips almost brushing Viktor’s skin, and does not touch him.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it is all healed.”

“Thank god for that,” Yuuri says, and he lays his palms flat on Viktor’s chest, over scar and skin alike.

Viktor does not have much sensation around the scars. Yet he swears Yuuri’s touch penetrates him, that the heat of his hands warms the heart pounding in Viktor’s breast.

“They’re horrible.”

“You came back,” Yuuri says. He rests his forehead against Viktor’s. “That is what matters.”

“I am like this inside, too.”

Viktor closes his eyes against the memories welling up in him.

“I know,” Yuuri whispers. Viktor can feel his breath against his lips with every word. “I want to see those, too. All of them. Everything.”

 

 

 

 

Later that night, after a cold dinner and a mutual agreement to remain scandalously naked, Yuuri insists upon demonstrating for Viktor one of the particular positions described in the book Phichit provided him.

As they lie breathless on the floor together, the banked fire burning low, Yuuri’s throat still red from where Viktor took his teeth to it, an answering sting on his neck where Yuuri savaged him in turn, Viktor puts his lips to Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri, in deference to Viktor’s desires, is wearing his pearl earrings and his diamonds around his naked neck.

“You should know, darling,” Viktor whispers, “that I sleep very poorly.” Nightmares plague too many of Viktor’s nights, particularly when he is traveling.

“I was raised in an inn,” Yuuri says in reply. “Believe me. You will never manage to disturb me.”

They sleep—Yuuri deeply, Viktor fitfully—until the sun is high in the sky. Viktor wakes, once or twice, in confusion and despair; Yuuri, dead to the world beside him, is true to his word and does not stir.

He is asleep on Viktor’s shoulder, one hand splayed over Viktor’s scarred chest, sweaty and sticky and disheveled.

Viktor loves him so much that he feels as if he might burst from it. In the early hours of the dawn he begins a new treatise on Euclidean geometry.

It is not quite a traditional love letter, but he thinks Yuuri will appreciate it more than any verse.


End file.
